“This morning, the sparrows:” a poem to help me breathe

This morning, the sparrows

I don’t dare tell the sparrows

they are saving my soul.

That is far too much

for these small creatures to bear,

and they must remain light

to dance on the wind.

But it is the truth.

Some speak to me of being saved

and such words are ankle-deep

in the ocean of divine love

that washes over me,

dissolving my fear in grace.

And now, this morning,

the sparrows singing,

cold wind slicing,

sunlight spilling across the water

and the budding limbs whispering of

promises held in the earth’s slow tilt.

I have no time for kings,

for those who lure my attention

with their shrill, hollow words,

wanting me to affirm their importance–

an illusion of grandeur.

We have known their kind before.

Even names carved deep into stone

fade away in the wind’s mercy.

My heart adores the sparrows

as they sit on the branches of the tree,

teaching me, once again, what it means

to truly live.

–Stuart Higginbotham